


evolve

by VeryImportantDemon



Series: Evolve [4]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Eliot is Really Gay, Fillory (The Magicians), Fluff, Happy, Happy Ending, M/M, trippy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 19:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18288596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImportantDemon/pseuds/VeryImportantDemon
Summary: Eliot woke up, which wasn’t that odd. What was weird was that he was laying flat on his back in soft green grass. He was fairly certain he’d gone to sleep in a bed. His bed, in Fillory, next to his husband, with Cancer Puppy II at the foot of the bed.





	evolve

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! The epilogue to the Evolve series. I hope I wrapped things up well! I’m definitely not done with Queliot. I already have drafts for more fics with them!

-1-

 

Eliot woke up, which wasn’t that odd. What was weird was that he was laying flat on his back in soft green grass. He was fairly certain he’d gone to sleep in a bed. His bed, in Fillory, next to his husband, with Cancer Puppy II at the foot of the bed. He sat up, trying to figure out where he was. There were trees surrounding him, Eliot laying prone in the center of a grove. All seemed relatively normal except for the fact that he didn’t know how he got there. 

 

Then he became aware of the ticking. It was the constant tick, tick, tick of a clock. He stood up frowning, crossing towards the trees. He reached out, his fingertips brushing against the bark. It was a tree, a normal tree, except he saw something embedded in the trunk as he got closer. A clock.

 

“What did you think?” a voice asked from behind him.

 

Eliot tensed, spinning around. Behind him was Jane Chatwin herself, clad in the Watcherwoman’s cloak, the hood down and her red hair resting on her shoulders. 

 

“Of the clock?” Eliot asked. Jane was a friend, he thought. But he also thought she was dead. But this was Fillory and stranger things had happened. 

 

“No, of your life,” Jane said. 

 

“My life?” Eliot laughed. “My life’s great, thanks. I’ve got a hubbie and a dog.” 

 

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed some of it,” Jane said. She wrung her hands in front of her, the Watcherwoman’s cloak hanging off of her and making her look like some kind of angel of death. Eliot hopes he hadn’t died in his sleep. He was kind of enjoying how his life was going. “What about the Beast? No magic? The Monster?” 

 

Eliot pulled a face. “Jesus, thanks for bringing that back up,” he said. “Kind of sucked ass. Don’t really want to repeat that.”

 

Jane hummed to herself like he’d just answered exactly like she’d expected. “Would you do it again?” she asked.

 

“Would I get possessed again?” Eliot said. He laughed, shaking his head. “Fuck no. You couldn’t pay me enough to do that again. Now, why exactly am I here?”

 

“I brought you here to show you something,” Jane said. She spread her hands slightly, indicating the trees surrounding them. “Show you your life.”

 

Eliot frowned, confusion evident on his features. He ran a hand through his messy dark curls. “Show me my life?” he repeated. “What the fuck.”

 

“I suppose I can explain,” she said. “You won’t remember either way. You’re at Brakebills right now. Well, your body is. Your mind is here with me.”

 

“Like fuck I’m in Brakebills,” Eliot said. “I’m in Fillory with Quentin.” He tensed at the mention of his husband’s name. “Q. Where is he? Did you hurt him? If you touched him, I’ll fucking kill you again.” 

 

Jane shook her head. “Quentin’s quite alright,” she said. “He’s… Studying I think. Drilling Poppers in your cottage.” 

 

Eliot huffed again. “Like fuck he is,” he said. “What’s going on here? And tell it to me straight. English, preferably.”

 

Jane sighed softly. “I’m trying to stop the Beast,” she said. “This is the…” She drew a watch from somewhere in the folds of her large cloak, peering at the face before tucking it away again. “40th time.”

 

Eliot squeezed his eyes shut. His head was pounding. He wasn’t in Fillory, he was still at Brakebills, Jane Chatwin was trying to stop the Beast… When he opened his eyes, he spoke again. “Why are you telling me this?” He asked. 

 

Jane shrugged. “I wanted to see how this would work out,” she said. “I’ve been doing this awhile and I’m quite tired of it. But…” She tapered off, tilting her head slightly to think before she spoke. “But I thought I might ask you first. You’ve seen how it will end. Do you want to do this? Or should I change something?” 

 

Eliot hesitated, digging the nails of his right hand into his own, trying desperately to anchor himself to reality if this even was reality. “So that wasn’t real?” he said. “Me and Quentin? The Mosaic? Being High King? None of it?”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say it wasn’t real,” Jane said. “It was all very real. It just… Hasn’t happened yet.” 

 

Eliot shook his head again. He wasn’t married. He wasn’t happy. He was still in Brakebills, drowning in drugs and drink. “And I can decide?” He said finally. “I can decide if we go on with this timeline or not?” 

 

“That’s the idea, yes,” Jane said. 

 

“Why?” Eliot asked. “Why are you giving me this chance?”

 

Jane hesitated, thinking for a long few beats before she spoke. “You remind me of Martin,” she said. “My brother Martin when he was a boy. I want to save you from what happened to him if I can. And besides.” She paused. “I like you, Eliot Waugh.”

 

Eliot put his back to the clock tree, sliding down the bark until he was sitting on the ground with his forehead on his knees. “Fuck,” he said. “That’s a lot. I can chose to live that life again and I won’t remember any of it? I won’t know anything will happen before it does? Going in blind like it’s the first time?”

 

“It is,” Jane said. “Well, it is a lot. And it will be the first time for you. You won’t remember any of this. Do you need some time to think? We’ve got nothing but time here.”

 

Eliot hesitated. “No,” he said. “I want to do it again.” 

 

Jane frowned. “Really?” She asked. “Hm. I didn’t think you’d say that.”

 

“Why didn’t you?” Eliot asked, looking up at her and frowning. 

 

“Well, why would you?” she said. “All that pain and suffering, the anger, the hate… Why would you do that again?”

 

“Because,” Eliot said. “I was loved. The two best people I know love me. All the shitty stuff will be worth it to be loved.” 

 

Jane sighed softly. “That’s a romantic answer,” she said. She brushed her hands down the sides of her cloak before offering one to Eliot. “Well, are you ready to do this again?” she asked. 

 

“Of course,” he said. He reached forward and took her hand. She pulled him to his feet, staring into his eyes. He got the sense she could see a lot more than he could.

 

“Good luck, Eliot,” she said and touched her index fingers to his temples.

 

-0-

 

Eliot woke up with a start, like he’d been dreaming of falling and he hit the ground. But the feeling wasn’t the same. There was a pleasant weight in his stomach, something warm and comforting. What had he been dreaming about? He couldn’t come up with much, just trees and a woman in a cloak and feeling loved. Before he even opened his eyes all the way, the images faded. 

 

Sighing, Eliot sat up. Beside him on the bedside table was a half-drank bottle of something amber. Eliot grabbed it and took a swig before throwing the blankets off and climbing out of bed. He snatched his silk robe off of a hook on the wall, throwing into around his shoulders, slipping his arms in the sleeves, and tying it around his waist. His hair was a mess, curls smashed down in some places and sticking up wildly and others. He was frowning as he made his way downstairs, unable to shake the feeling that he had dreamt about something important. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped. Quentin was sitting on the sofa with a book open on his lap, watching Eliot.

 

“You okay?” Quentin asked. “You look… Shaken up.”

 

Eliot shrugged slightly, a strange feeling of love blossoming in his chest. “Yeah,” he said, shaking his head and running his fingers through his bedhead before dropping down on the sofa next to Quentin. “I just had a dream.”

 

“A bad one?” Quentin asked, frowning. 

 

“A good one, I think,” Eliot said. 

 

“Oh,” Quentin said, his silence characteristically awkward. “That’s… Good.”

 

Eliot smiled at him, reclining on the couch, his back against Quentin. “Yeah,” he said, unable and not wanting to shake the warmth in his chest that he got when he thought about his dream. “Yeah, it was.”


End file.
